


Hangin' em High

by Leah_Red



Category: Bastille (Band), Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Better Living Industries, Gen, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S, The Canon Ending Sucked And Everyone Knows It, humanized villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 09:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah_Red/pseuds/Leah_Red
Summary: A band of successful S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W operatives leaves on what they assume is a dead-end mission to find the notorious rebel Killjoys.





	Hangin' em High

**Author's Note:**

> My Chemical Romance has a song called "Hang 'em High" and Bastille has a song called "Hangin'". Coincidence? I don't think so.
> 
> Special thanks to Nate for giving me the courage to just royally fuck everybody up.

Smith stood outside of the green room, going over the orders he was given just moments ago. Inside, his squad of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W operatives were getting their favored equipment ready for a trip out into the Zones. They had been on standby for days and Smith was almost sure this was just an excuse to get them out of Battery City before they caused another riot in the outer suburbs.

Logistically, that's all it had to be. Take down Party Poison and his crew? More veteran squads had tried and failed. What made HQ think they had any sort of chance?

Smith shook his head, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W mask crumpled in his hand. They were called the Eliminators for a reason. No one they were sent after escaped, and few made it back to Bat City alive. Even if it was an impossible quest, he would take his men out and finish the job or die trying. Setting his jaw, Smith opened the door to the green room.

“This is shorter notice than usual,” Wood quipped as soon as the door was open. He was busy assembling his rifle of choice, checking to make sure that everything was in order. “Is HQ that desperate to get us some action?”

The other two members of the squad exchanged dry smiles, clearly thinking the same thing. 

“From the briefing I was given, we finally have concrete info on the location of the Killjoys. The originals.” Smith gave them all a stern look, making sure they didn't think it was a joke. Not that he was ever one to crack jokes.

“They expect us to take out a band of guerillas that's been rumored to be ghosted a dozen times over but that's _still_ alive?” Simmons packed his uniforms pockets with trackers and beacons. If they actually do run in to the “Fab Four,” as they were known among the Zones, then he wasn't planning on letting them get away scot-free. “I'm surprised that they're even actually real.”

Far snorted. His gear was some of the most basic. A gun, spare battery packs, and a stained pair of knuckle dusters that have seen more action than most porn droids. “Even more reason to think this is just an exercise in futility.”

“It doesn't matter what it looks like.” Smith grabbed his gear off the shelf closest to the door and double checked that it was all in place. “That's the orders and we'll follow them until we complete the objective or get called back to the city.” He hitched a bleached-bone backpack on to his shoulders before tugging on the mask that would protect his identity outside of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W facilities.

“Let's get moving.”

*

Kobra sighed loudly. “Ghoul. Get off of the roof of the car.”

“No.”

The battered Trans Am parked in front of the barely functional gas pumps was up on a jack, with Jet underneath and a bag of tools at his right hand.

“If the car falls off the jack and crushes Jet I'm going to personally blame you for it.” Kobra sighed again and leaned back in the shade.

The car had been acting up recently. As reliable as she'd been, it would be a shame if the whole thing just fell apart in the middle of the Zones with no warning. Nobody wanted to walk miles in the heat just because of a faulty radiator line.

“Thanks for making me feel so secure under here.” Jet reached out for a wrench, hand groping across the broken concrete before he found it. “It's not like I'm always worried about dying out here for no goddamn reason.” The three of them all looked towards the most collection of bullet holes and scorched laser burns on the side of the car.

Ghoul groaned and rolled off the car, landing on his feet in the shade next to Kobra. “You are the absolute worst. Way to guilt me out of my fun.”

“Whatever it takes not to get crushed beneath the old lady.” Jet's words were punctuated by grunts as he loosened a fitting. “Somebody hand me that tubing over there before I make you pull out all those bullets rattling around in the frame.” He pointed over to some old materials he had scavenged out of a wrecked Dracs' vehicle.

Poison was the one that handed it to him, having just stepped out of the dilapidated building behind them. “You all done yet?”

“Just about.” Jet tossed a piece of weather-worn tubing out from under the car. “Can we please not set fire to every car that chases after us? I can't exactly go buy parts from Bat City on a day off.”

“We'll have to see about that. No promises.” Poison shot Ghoul a look that only got him an innocent shrug in return. He flopped down on the hot ground to check on the progress. Mechanics, and especially cars, were something that he only had a passing interest in, but he knew enough to fix a flat in an emergency.

The four rebels lounged in the heat, a rare moment of relative leisure. 

No one noticed the tiny tracking beacon nestled into the innards of the car, silently tracking their position.

*

The pristine white of a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W vehicle got them either no attention or all possible attention at once, sometimes both at the same time.

Smith kept both hands on the wheel as he drove slowly through the city towards the outskirts. No one walking along the street or in other cars even looked at them, but it was obvious that everyone was paying them strict attention. Smith practically snarled at what he saw in the rearview mirror.

“Get that barrel out of the window, Wood. Do you want every back alley dealer to think we're after them personally?” Smith's voice cracked through the car like a whip.

From the backseat, Wood scoffed but quickly obeyed. His rifle was mostly disassembled in his lap. Nerves and habit kept him pulling it apart and assembling it over and over. It was one of the few things that kept his mouth shut while they were on their way to a job. He glanced at Far in the seat next to him and only got a shrug.

'It's Smith in the city, what do you expect?' the gesture said. They all knew the squad leader wouldn't start to calm down until they were outside the city limits and free to make whatever rules they wanted to get their job done.

The only one that seemed unaffected was Simmons in the front passenger seat, looking studiously at a tiny screen in his hand. “We'll be heading north-by-northeast once we're out in Zone One. There are a few roads that head out in vaguely the right direction, but we might have to go off-road when we get closer. I'll keep you posted.”

Smith nodded tersely. The car was silent for a few more moments until the soft metallic snicks and clicks of Wood's rifle being put together started to sound again from the back seat.

The drive past the city's official limits, and then suburbs that clung to the city walls like barnacles, took over an hour. Smith yanked off his mask as soon as the last hovels and lean-to's were out of sight behind them. His hair, matted down by the mask and sweat, was soon a wild mess on his head after he rolled down his car window. 

The rest of the squad followed suit soon after. Everyone relaxed visibly and for once no one made fun of Wood as he pulled his definitely-against-regulation-length hair into a ponytail.

“How far are we off track?” Smith asked Simmons. “They gave us the best off-roader they had on hand, but I don't want to send us off a cliff not marked on the sat maps.”

Simmons kept his eyes glued to the screen in his hands. “Not far right now.” The de facto navigator checked an old paper topographical map against the tracking device's screen. “We can stay on this road for a few zones. I'll let you know when we need to change direction.”

Smith nodded. He met with his squadmate's eyes in the rearview mirror. Any anger from before was already long forgotten now that they were in their area of expertise.

Each one of them had come from the Zones. From Far, who grew up in the relative safety of Zone One, to Smith, who managed to survive out past Zone Seven before he volunteered for service with Better Living Industries, they all felt more comfortable outside of Battery City than in it. The atmosphere in the car once they passed the limits into Zone One was living proof of that.

It was now that Smith could really start to plan on how to take down the Killjoys.

*

Jet rolled out from under the Trans Am. “Alright. Who wants to get out of this dump and take her for a test drive?” He moved all his tools out of the side and lowered the jack.

“Oh oh pick me!” Ghoul jumped to his feet right away, running in to the hideout to grab his gun and mask. 

Kobra looked at his brother and the two of them shared a look. How did Ghoul manage to have that much energy _all the time?_ No one was sure, and honestly they were all afraid of the answer.

“It'll be nice to get out and drive just for the sake of driving,” Poison said. He pulled on his jacket and took his mask out from an inside pocket. “I'd like to just go out and drive for a while without the risk of a firefight for once.”

The Killjoys got in their car and headed out on the barely visible dirt path towards the closest paved road.

*

Smith drove with his knees, one gloved hand out the window and the other restlessly turning the dial on the useless radio. Every few minutes it would pick up a static-filled pirate radio station blasting out the voice of one of the Zones' most iconic personas.

“I'm surprised the Doctor is still alive. You'd think Blind would put a priority on icons like him.” Far had his head half out the back window, blowing smoke out of the car.

“The best way to break people down is to leave them something unobtainable to hope for so they stay complacent.” Smith finally spun the volume down to turn the radio off. “Everybody learns that in indoctrination.”

Next to Far in the backseat, Wood snorted out a laugh. “He's been hit too many times in the head to remember anything from indoctrination.” Smith rolled his eyes when that resulted in Far reaching over and shoving Wood to the side so he could dead-leg him.

The playful mood in the car disappeared in the blink of an eye when Simmons spoke up.

“Target's on the move. Heading almost due southwest.” Simmons moved around his map, sliding his fingertip across the surface. “We're close to a service road that we can take to try to intercept them.”

Both of Smith's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. He couldn't deny that the thrill of the chase was one of the best parts of the job. Far and Wood started to prepare for a confrontation in the back, checking their guns and favored weapons again, while Simmons held an old analog watch against the sun bright in the sky.

“Keep the speed steady. We'll get to the service road in approximately 12 minutes. The sat maps list some unsecured buildings scattered around the area that we can use for cover if we get there in time.” Simmons kept the driving instructions short and simple, and Smith was happy to listen to him. In all their time working together, he had never led them off course.

*

The Killjoys sped through the desert and into one of the more intact, yet still abandoned, suburbs close to the inner border of Zone Five. Most of the buildings were nothing but burnt-out husks, Drac patrols normally too heavy to allow for any of them to be used as shelter or hide outs for rebels or outcasts from Bat City.

“Everything feel good so far?” Jet had his ear turned towards the dash, trying to tune out the rattle of stray bullets in the frame to listen to the sound of the engine.

Poison nodded, looking relaxed but attuned to the surroundings. “I don't think you've ever done anything to the Widow that's ever gonna ruin her. Give yourself more credit.”

Kobra was the first one to notice something was off. He turned around in the back seat, pulling on a pair of sunglasses to see through the glare. “Someone's following us.”

*

“Shit.”

Smith turned the blind corner and cursed at how close they were to the rebels' car. The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/S were supposed to be further behind, giving them time to let Wood try to line up a shot to disable the rear tires before they were noticed.

“Buckle up. We're taking out their car before they get too far.” Smith meant that first command literally. He accelerated, pressing the gas pedal down to the floorboard. The white car could never be camouflaged in this environment, so the element of surprise was lost. It was now or never.

Far and Wood in the backseat braced themselves, and Simmons actually pulled his seatbelt across his lap. The beat up car in front of them was far enough ahead to also build up some steam, but the Better Living Industries Agent Issued Pursuit Vehicle was maintained far better than even the most pristine Crash Queen's drag racer.

The Killjoys tried to lose them through turns and side roads, between buildings and crashing through old fences, but Smith kept on their tail, gaining ground at every straightaway. Stray laser shots pinged off the bumper and hood, and Far made sure to return fire as quickly as it was coming for them.

Smith rammed the tail of the banged-up Trans Am with a metallic crunch. The back tires of the rebels' car fishtailed slightly, and he let them gain a few feet before slamming his foot down on the gas again. This time when the cars made contact he didn't let up. In a calculated risk, with the cars almost connected and lasers flashing through the windows going both directions, he turned the wheel sharply.

A sharp squeal of tires on pavement followed, and Smith pulled on every ounce of offensive driving that he'd learned in training to keep their car from careening off the road. It was impossible to totally control the car, and the car stopped with a painful lurch when it hit a brightly colored mailbox on the corner of a suburb intersection.

The rebels fared worse. Their vehicle smashed into another abandoned car left on the side of the road and stopped dead.

Years of daily training kicked in immediately. The doors on the opposite side from the enemies' crashed car slammed open and they all rolled out, keeping their profiles low as guns were primed and equipment was accounted for. Smith began laying down cover fire as Wood lined up a preliminary shot with his rifle. Far activated a camouflage pack on his belt and became nearly invisible, letting him begin to go in for the close combat he was an expert in and Simmons broke the window of a building behind them to go inside and climb to a higher floor for a better view of the situation.

The rebels took longer to react, stuck in their car and having to work harder just to get in to a position to defend themselves. The first of his vehicles windows shattered when a laser bolt heat the glass up in just the right spot.

Soon volleys of shots were being exchanged regularly, and Smith heard a loud bang from the other car as something in the engine overheated and exploded from the shot of Wood's rifle.

Smith felt the frame of the car jolt and vibrate again with the familiar sensation of Wood's laser rifle. His back was to the closed door, making sure he didn't present any of his body to the enemy as he reloaded his gun with another battery pack. His body turned almost automatically to try to aim through the now broken windows at the other car when a scream resonated through the dry desert air that immediately brought him to a complete standstill.

_”NOOO!!!”_

Regardless of the mood dampeners and unidentifiable, mandatory pills that Blind forced him him and his crew, Smith had to fight the urge to cover his ears at the sound.

Wood had a grim look set on his face as he dropped almost prone behind the car to discard his depleted battery and replace it with a fresh one. “Kobra Kid is dead. I was going for a body shot; I know HQ wanted to bring them in for indoctrination, but-”

Smith cut his hand through the air with what appeared to be an impatient gesture. “There's three more. Where did Far and Simmons go?” He hadn't had time to pull his mask back on, which contained a short-range communication device.

Across the desolate street, the Killjoys' car was starting to smolder. Smith could smell smoke and hear the unmistakable sound of grief quickly turning to anger. The would only have a few moments before the rebel leader would try to take vengeance for his brother's death.

“Far's camouflage was damaged in the crash, but he's close enough to try to take them out soon.” Wood's voice was muffled from under the mask he had messily pulled over his hair. “Simmons is trying to get shots on them in case something happens and we don't make it out of here.” His tracking devices, used like bullets, were almost impossible to remove without causing major injuries. Wood checked the fit of the battery clip in the magazine. 

The smell of smoke got stronger.

*

Poison clutched at his brother's body – no. He refused to believe it. His teeth were bared in a rictus of pain and anger, eyes sliding away from the cracked and scorched helmet hiding Kobra's face.

“Kill them,” he rasped out at Ghoul and Jet, who were frozen with just as much disbelief. The first flickers of flame appeared through the broken windows of the Trans Am. When neither of his comrades moved, he turned his anger on them instead. “What are you doing!? I told you to get rid of them!”

Ghoul pulled off his mask and looked at Jet, who adjusted his eye-patch without thinking. 

“We need to get out of here; this is the worst place we can be stuck without a vehicle-” Jet was cut off by Ghoul checking the battery level of his gun and shaking his head.

“They're not getting away with this.” Ghoul opened the car door closest to him. Dodging sparks and flames that were more than enough singe his skin and make his jacket start to smoke, he pulled a metal toolbox out of the floorboards of the backseat. Flipping open the toolbox, he pulled out a couple of home made grenades that were supposed to have been left back at the shack... but it was too latefor anyone to complain now. He pulled the pin on one and held it close.

Poison lay his brother down on the cracked and broken sidewalk, tears getting caught under his mask as another volley of laser fire kept them trapped behind the wreck. 

*

“We need to finish this soon,” Smith murmured. The crackling blaze of the Killjoys' car was getting brighter, but Far was still nowhere to be seen and he hadn't acted against the rebels yet. He dodged around the back of the car to take a few shots when he saw something get thrown across the street and plink against the side of their vehicle. 

Without thinking, Smith grabbed Wood by the back of his white body armor and yanked him to the ground before laying on top of him. He clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tightly at almost the exact same time that the grenade exploded with a flash of light and a wave of heat that he could feel even on the other side of the car.

Smith practically shouted curses – mostly since he couldn't hear them otherwise, even after protecting his ears – and took the mask off Wood's face while he was still face down and dazed on the concrete.

“We have to finish this, _NOW!_ Simmons, Far, report!”

“Waiting to get a shot in at Jet Star. Fun Ghoul has more improvised weaponry,” came Simmon's flat report. Smith glanced up and could see the barrel of a gun just barely showing out of a second story window above them.

“Far? Where are you?” Smith didn't know if he wanted a reply or not. If he got one, Far wasn't close enough to cause the chaos he normally did with his camouflage. He waited for a tense moment, trying to keep an eye out for more grenades being thrown over at them but there was still no answer.

Smith could only hope that everything on his end was going well. 

The sound of a scuffle breaking out and the crack of a projectile weapon happened at almost the same time. Smith held his ground, staying behind his vehicle. There was no way to predict what was happening outside of his field of vision. He looked from behind his cover, face still hidden by his S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W mask, when he heard the unusual sound of alarm from Simmons.

“Jet Star is down but there's trouble!”

Far's form flickered into view, his damaged camouflage giving away his position clearly. He tried to haul Fun Ghoul away from the blazing car with an arm around his neck but was having an issue. The physically smallest Killjoy in the group was putting up a fight. Smith couldn't even try to provide some kind of covering fire without risk of hitting his fellow agent. He was running through the possibility of having to do that anyway when he saw a round object drop seemingly on accident from Ghoul's hand and fall heavily to the ground.

Smith saw Far shove the rebel away. He attempted to grab the grenade to throw it away before it could detonate – a hand snaked out from behind the car, covered in blood, and grabbed Far's leg.

It all seemed to happen at once, before anyone could react, but in slow motion with every detail visible to Smith.

Jet Star, who Simmons claimed had been taken out, pulled Far down almost directly on top of the grenade. Blood streamed heavily from a wound on his head as he managed to throw himself on top of Far. Smith watched in horror as grenade detonated. The explosion was only barely muffled by the two bodies on top of it.

*

Poison saw Jet get hit with something, knocking him down. He'd been too focused on Ghoul's box of tricks and trying to pull his brother away from the burning car to see Jet hadn't been killed. Not yet anyway. 

He watched as the second member of his band of rebels died right in front of him. There would be no coming back from that wound. Totally exposed in front of the burning car, Ghoul didn't do anything but stare at the bodies in front of him.

From behind the blindingly white enemy vehicle, a tall S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W appeared, laser gun hanging loosely from his hand. It dropped to the asphalt at the same time as he dropped to his knees in front of the mangled bodies.

Poison almost thought, for just a moment, that there was still some human emotion left in the Blind operative. His hand reached out to the fallen soldier and grabbed something from the body –

As quickly as the thought appeared, it was gone as the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W launched himself upwards and used his entire body weight to throw a punch directly at Ghoul, knocking him backwards and down to the pavement. Blood dripping from his hand, where Poison could see a stained set of brass knuckles in his fist, he pulled his mask off with his other hand before approaching.

A look of cold fury was the last thing Poison saw before he was battered unconscious.

*
    
    
    Operative Report | Smith  
    
    Operative Group  | Codename: Eliminators  
    
    Date             | ██/██/20██  
    
    Time             | ██:██  
    
    Contents         |  
    
    
    The original rebel band of “Killjoys” has been disbanded completely.  
    
    
    Rebel leader Party Poison [registered name Gerard Way], in custody, currently undergoing indoctrination.  
    
    
    Rebel leader Kobra Kid [registered name Michael Way], deceased. Cause of death: direct hit from long-range laser rifle fire.  
    
    
    Rebel leader Fun Ghoul [registered name Frank Iero], in custody, currently undergoing indoctrination.  
    
    
    Rebel leader Jet Star [registered name Ray Toro], deceased. Cause of death: exsanguination due to explosive device.  
    
    
    Public reports of these captures and deaths have been “leaked” to BL/ind approved reactions. Intake of mood dampeners and approved therapy recordings has increased 4█% since last calculation.  
    
    
    Some remaining bands of offshoot rebel groups have been rounded up successfully after the operation, though many are still reportedly hiding out past Zones Five and Six [see: report from Operative Group Codename: Nico and the Niners].  
    
    
    Public appearances by former rebel leaders in indoctrinated state have been tentatively scheduled for ██/██/20██.  
    
    
    Better Living Industries losses:  
    
    
    Agent Far [registered name ████ Far███████], deceased. Cause of death: exsanguination due to explosive device. Body recovered.  
    
    


End file.
